Connections
by michelerene
Summary: For Naruto and Sasuke, it's about how, at the end of a long day, self-loathing can shift seamlessly into self-loving.  Collaboration between myself and Rasengan22


Disclaimer: We do not own Naruto and Co. and so we don't make money from making them do what everyone does. Really, everyone does it. Don't deny it.

Summary: For Naruto and Sasuke, it's about how, at the end of a long day, self-loathing can shift seamlessly into self-loving. (Collaboration between myself and Rasengan22)

Author's Note: Because somewhere between ''M tired' and 'Entertain meeeeee' one of us mentioned there just weren't enough masturbation fics out there. So we worked together to get it done… good times, good times.

**Connections**

Having just waved goodbye to Sakura after running into her half way home from the training grounds, Naruto proceeded to drag himself up the many flights of stairs leading to his apartment. She'd ignored his sweat-soaked clothes and had been polite enough not to point out how terrible he smelled. He tried to push away his matted hair from his eyes, but it kept sticking to his forehead. His hands were rough with new calluses, dirty under the fingernails, and burnt on the palms from when he'd been practicing with the Rasengan.

When Naruto opened the door to his apartment, he was blasted with a wave of sweltering heat. He cursed, knowing the air-conditioning unit had probably broken again. He hadn't had time or the money to make repairs, but usually with a few well-placed kicks it would jump into action. Tired and sore, Naruto unsnapped the kunai pouch from around his thigh as well as the pouch attached to the back waistband of his pants. They dropped like rocks to the floor, filled with all his remaining kunai, throwing stars, smoke bombs, and exploding tags.

Naruto had taken the time this morning to pick up around the living room, which meant the area was slightly less cluttered than normal. He went to the A/C unit and poked at it uselessly, a frown of concentration on his face. The knob was set in the correct position, but the damn thing had shut itself off. He should definitely buy a new one the next time he earned some money. Kicking it a few times seemed to do the trick as it sputtered a couple times before the fans inside began to spin into motion and a gentle breeze started to shoot from the vents. Naruto closed his eyes, enjoying the coolness as it hit his face. Meanwhile, he unzipped his heavy jacket (probably too heavy for training in _this_ kind of weather) and threw it on a nearby chair. The sandals came off next, but that required him to lean against the wall as he squeezed out each foot. Putting his full weight on his bare soles made him realize how much he was going to ache tomorrow. He'd worked himself too hard today, way beyond his usual routine, and he'd been doing that every day for the past few weeks. The results were showing though. After slipping his meshed shirt over his head, Naruto took the time to notice the growing definition of muscle in his arms as he flexed his biceps. He glanced at his stomach, running a finger straight down the middle before tracing around each indentation of his abdominal muscles. He felt pleased with himself, but he still thought he could be in better shape. He could always be in better shape, and he wasn't going to stop working harder until he was able to...

Naruto heaved a sigh of regret as his fingers skirted over the edges of the air vents, the scent of the sweat on his skin quite pungent to his nose. He cast a disgruntled look at his ugly old blue couch and walked toward it, collapsing on the middle cushion.

_What am I doing?_ He kept thinking. _Why aren't I there yet?_

He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, cradling his head in both hands. The necklace Tsunade had given him dangled in front of his eyes as he stared into his lap, biting at his lip in frustration.

"Why is it like this?" he asked aloud, but he had no one to be angry with but himself. For his lack of progress, his inability to _do_ anything. All he _could_ do was train himself to death every day, but it wasn't _enough_!

Utterly disgusted, Naruto threw himself on the couch, hanging one leg over the side and stretching out the other until his right foot dangled off the end. Repeatedly, he flexed and curled his foot, mindlessly staring at the ceiling as his body buzzed from all of the day's exertions.

Why? Why did it hurt to remember why it was he pushed himself so hard?

"Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head to rest against the couch as he massaged his left arm. Bruises from this morning had already disappeared by early in the evening, which made him wonder if perhaps he should've stayed out a little longer.

Ten more minutes? Twenty? Another couple of hours? How much more could he have accomplished if he'd gone on a little longer; yet, he knew in his head and from his training that it made logical sense to stop at some point and rest, to replenish his body, but,_goddammit_, it was hard sometimes!

How could he ever sit still knowing what was out there?

Restless, he stretched his arms out at his sides, the foot on the floor gliding back and forth over the smooth wooden boards. The thumb of his left hand brushed absently against his hip, shifting the touch from skin to the stiff cloth of his pants. With his right hand, he reached and clutched at the jewel resting against his chest. Slowly, his fingers uncurled from around the stone to scratch at a spot above his exposed nipple.

A shower sounded great, sure.

He imagined the soothing sensation of the water hitting his back, cascading over sore, abused muscles and cleansing his body of all this dirt, sweat and grime.

But this felt good, too. Very good.

Naruto exhaled heavily as his fingers found their way to his stomach and tapped near his navel. From there, they playfully skimmed the waistband of his pants, and in a very precise movement, undid the button and zipper.

All he did was breathe. In. _Out_. In again. _Out_ even longer.

Closing his eyes in a cathartic meditation of sorts, he focused only on the presence of his hands: the gentle, wispy touches of the fingers of his left hand at his hipbone; the thumb on his right hand that traced the trail of coarse blond hair from the waistband of his boxers to his navel.

He slid a hand inside the open fold of his pants, running his fingers over the front seam of his boxers. Just a slow, _gentle_ rub. He settled deeper into the cushions. The hand on his hip aided in pushing his pans to mid-thigh as the skin on his lower back scraped against the abrasive cushion fabric.

Naruto cracked open an eye, licking his lips as he watched his own hand stroke himself over the outside of his boxers. Gently, he bit into his lip as he spread his bent legs further apart. The fingers of his left hand curled under the hem of his boxers, knuckles tracing the warm and sweaty skin of his thigh. He breathed out loudly and started to slowly rock into the other hand. Naruto arched his back and squeezed his growing erection, teasing himself and testing his will power. He felt his entire body heating up, the pleasure coiling out in all directions like a tightly-wound string.

After a hard day of training, the mindless touch was making everything he'd held tense unsnap. His left hand traveled under the shorts, and he rubbed his upper thigh, then slid inward and underneath his boxers, where fingertips just barely grazed his balls. Naruto let out a gasp, hand over his crotch stilling as he caught his breath. Most days he came home too tired to even make an attempt at finding release. It had been building up. Even with just the rubbing, he was already fairly close. He let out another shuddering breath and moved his hand to the center of his chest, heartbeat beating swiftly against his ribcage. As he attempted to regain his cool, he started yanking at his boxers, tugging them until they were around his knees with his pants. The rush of air against his swelling cock sent thousands of electric shocks along his skin. He felt his blood pulsing, and it excited him. Ironically, it was the same kind of exhilaration he felt during a battle or when sparring with a strong opponent.

If he needed cooling off still, he achieved it, because thinking along those lines called up an image he was not prepared to see during _this_.

"Shit," he mumbled, shutting his eyes tight but trying to get the image out of his head. That wasn't right. He barely had to think about anyone to get off when he'd held it in for so long, but when he did, it was most certainly women.

So why wasn't that face going away?

Naruto kept one hand on his thigh, the other had found itself atop his quivering stomach. Nevertheless, the air attacked his erection, keeping it stiff as it bobbed whenever he adjusted his position on the cushions. He pushed all potentially threatening images out of his head, focusing solely on touch as, with his left hand, he grabbed the base of his cock while fisting himself with the right. He used slow, steady strokes, keeping conscious of his breathing. It seemed to work. He jerked his hips up as he gripped with a tight, downward motion, loving the way the roughness of his palm created a painful friction. Naruto's eyes had become slits. He watched his hand, licking the side of his teeth and grinding his tongue against them as a bead of pre-cup appeared at the tip of his penis. He took it between his fingers as more leaked out and spread it.

His hushed panting filled the room as he thrust into his clenched hand, body scooting up the length of the couch. Naruto slipped his heels between the cushions to help keep in place as he tilted his head back and let loose a moan. The A/C unit, luckily, was loud enough to drown out most sounds. It just felt _too_ good to hold it in. Naruto's mouth parted, lips wet with saliva as he nudged the corner of his mouth with his tongue. His chest heaved wildly, and his thighs flexed as his hips lifted off the couch. Naruto moved his left hand to his thigh, pinching the skin briefly before sliding it sensually up his hip and stomach until the fingertips were barely below a nipple. He squeezed it, shutting his eyes and imagining…

Naruto's breath caught in his throat when that face flashed through his mind again, and he cursed. It felt like he was fighting with himself. He tried to wipe that face from his mind because his hand refused to stop. He changed from using his fist to just three fingers as they squeezed and stroked the underside while the thumb pressed against the tip every time his hand pumped upward and _fuck_ -

He growled, low in his throat, disturbed and mortified that he kept going even though he was thinking of _him_, could only think of him and _shit_ -

He pinched hard at his nipple and cried out, eyes widening as the pleasure built in his gut, and -

"_Yes_," Naruto grunted over and over while shamelessly grinding into the cushions and the fabric scraped him - oh yes - against his back and ass and behind his balls and _fuck_ -

He was _cumming_, and he was cumming and imagining Sasuke because he couldn't _stop _himself, and it was so fucking _wrong_! Wrong to imagine those scornful dark eyes that would _hate_ him if he knew what Naruto had just done!

His cum spurted out into his hand and on his stomach as his face scrunched up in ultimate pleasure, mouth open and caught in a wordless cry and a single name at the forefront of his jumbled stream of thoughts.

And for a blissful moment there was no guilt or shame. Naruto basked in it and the intense warmth circulating throughout his body that had gone completely limp, completely boneless as his chest rose and fell rapidly under his soiled hand. The other hand went to cover his eyes as the questions he didn't want to think about came rushing in now that he could think clearly, now that he could -

Oh, but he buried it! As quickly as it had shown up in his mind when he'd been doing _that_, he buried it because that's all he really _could_ do.

Naruto's eyes were open, and the proof was right there on his own stomach. He looked around, searching for something he could use to wipe it off. His jacket and shirt were too far away, so he wriggled out of his pants and boxers and sat up on the edge of the couch. He cleaned himself with the boxers and threw them into the dirty pile of clothes already on the floor.

It didn't mean anything.

All it meant was that maybe all the training had pushed him toward a breakdown. He should make sure he got plenty of rest tonight as soon as he took a shower and washed this all away and -

Naruto sighed. He set his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together as if in prayer. He leaned his forehead against steepled fingers, saying the name that had been haunting him for as long as he could remember. Because it seemed even more now that nothing existed before the time he had begun to _chase_.

Nothing.

He hesitated at first, and then in a near-whisper, he breathed it. "Sasuke."

It made him tremble. He gave it one last, fleeting thought before locking it away. Locking it in its own cage because that's what he knew how to do with the demons he did not want to deal with.

Naruto stood, sticky with sweat, and hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks. He grabbed his pile of clothes, taking them with him to the bathroom where he threw them in the tall straw hamper. When he passed the mirror, he didn't bother looking at it and went straight to the shower. Naruto's expression remained stony as he slid the door open and knocked the knob on without caring that it blasted out cold water. He put his arms out in front of him, pressing against the shower wall as the freezing water hit him like so many needles. He stood like that for a while until, lazily, he wrapped his fingers around the shower knob and the water gradually grew warmer.

After the shower Naruto got dressed and made a relatively healthy dinner for once. Before bed, he made an attempt at studying through a few scrolls Sai had lent him, but nothing stuck. When he shut the lights off, there wasn't even time to think because as his head hit the pillow, he was already fast asleep.

XXX

Sasuke walked swiftly down the hallway. The swirled designs that rolled down the walls appeared in the weak circles of light cast by the torches, only to disappear in the shadows between. It took him exactly six and a half steps between each torch. Light, dark, light, step, step, step…

Nearly unconsciously, Sasuke counted off each torch to his room, mentally doing the math. Seven torches, left turn, five torches, right turn, three more torches… ninety-seven and a half steps. Every morning and every night.

He pushed open his door, silently closing it behind him. The routine was always the same. Even as his right hand pushed the lock in place (an action he knew was more from habit than to actually keep anyone who wanted in, out) his left worked the belt free around his waist. A yank and twist with his wrist, and he tossed it over the simple wooden chair in the corner. He leaned his katana against the scarred seat of the chair, along with several other miscellaneous weapons.

Next, he pulled off his dirt streaked and sweat soaked top, untying the thin strips of fabric that held it crossed over his chest. In the time it took, he had crossed the room, just shy of four steps, and dumped the white shirt into a fraying straw basket near the bathroom door.

He flipped on the lights and gingerly raised his left arm, his right hand fingers dancing over a deep, dark purple bruise and possibly cracked ribs.

"Fucker," Sasuke hissed and dropped his arm. The bathroom (two steps in every direction) was comprised of a stainless steel sink, shower closet, and toilet. The tiled walls at one time may have been white, but years of dankness and a serious lack of cleaning left them a pale yellow with ominous rust colored water stains. Every day crumbling tiles gave up the fight and shattered onto the floor. Sasuke merely kicked them to the side.

A cracked, faded mirror hung precariously over the sink but Sasuke rarely did more than glance at it. He worked the string of his pants loose after reaching the toilet. The black fabric slid down his thighs, bunching at his knees and he stuck his hand in the shower, flicking the water on with his right hand before leaning it against the wall in front of him.

Head bowed, and eyes closed, he listened to the sounds of running water echoing through the small shithole as he relieved himself. Done, he kicked off his pants and boxers, sweeping them up with one hand while the other checked the temperature and then blindly threw them in the direction of the basket.

In the shower, water, far from hot, but not cold either, sputtered, plastering his dark hair to his head and sliding down the overtaxed muscles of his neck, shoulders, and back. Three deep breaths and his fingers found the soap. Hair, chest, arms, legs. Rinse. Lather, lather. His fingers moved with purpose over his stomach, down, down, quick and efficient. Clean is clean. Round the back. Rinse. Rinse. And he turned the water off.

He reached for his towel, left hanging near the shower on a flimsy hook. The towel would have been nothing more than a dust rag if he were still…

With a dark scowl on his face, Sasuke walked back into the bedroom. By the time he reached the corner, his lean body was as dry as the towel would allow and he hung it off the back of his chair. Running his fingers through his damp hair, he turned and faced the bed. The thin, scratchy blanket was just like he had left it that morning. Pulled up to the nearly flat pillow and straightened with steady hands.

Several scrolls lay neatly on his bedside table while others were stacked between the legs underneath. He normally would have sat cross legged on the mattress, scrolls scattered around him, learning, searching, becoming better, more… enough. He caught himself rubbing at the seal on his neck and cursed, fisting his fingers at his side.

He spun on his heel and sat on the edge of the bed. Fists on his knees, he breathed. In, out, in, out.

Everything he ever done was to attain more and become better, the best. His goals now were about _enough_. Learn just enough, become just strong enough, fast enough, hollow enough to achieve just that one thing…

"Fuck," he muttered and fell backward onto the bed. A hissed breath escaped when pain radiated up his sides, his abused ribs protesting the abuse. His head landed on his pillow and his legs sprayed over the bottom of the mattress. Arm flung over his eyes, he pushed all thoughts out of his head. Today was done. Tomorrow would come. This time now was his and his alone.

And he used that time to gather and collect his thoughts. What he'd learned today. How to apply it to tomorrow. His mistakes, his discoveries, his lessons, his punishments, all meticulously categorized and pushed away, to be viewed as a clinical observer. Detached. Free of the pain.

With one arm still covering his eyes, his free hand twitched at his side, rubbing over the course fabric of the blanket, nearly unfelt by the calloused skin of his fingers.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, he thought, and contemplated what joys he could anticipate. He'd been spared Kabuto's special brand of teaching today, it would be too much to hope that tomorrow would be the same. A sliver of panic that no amount of conditioning or mental preparedness could squash completely raced over his mind. Control, control, control. I have control, he thought, felt, ingrained inside himself. Just a little more, so close now, so close to enough.

His thumb brushed against his thigh and a rush of sensation ran through him, yanking him from his internal mantra. His mouth tipped into a frown and he fisted the sheets in his fingers.

Slowly the arm over his eyes lowered, his palm coming to rest over his stomach, warm and dry. He lay like that, feeling the warmth of his hand against his bare skin, as he concentrated on the cracks in the rust colored ceiling above his head.

Even with his focus diverted, he could feel his body reacting. One crack, two crack, and suddenly he was aware of a draft, drifting under the door, feather soft against his exposed skin. Three crack, four, and goose bumps spread over his bare arms and legs.

He closed his eyes, biting his tongue to keep in the frustrated growl. It was always like this. His body demanding something he had little patience for. He understood the physiology behind the urges. Sixteen and he was well aware of how his body reacted to different stimuli.

How often did he sit quietly and allow Orochimaru and Kabuto to discuss how perfect a specimen this 'vessel' was? Its many strengths and its few weaknesses. His limits were tested daily, his stamina, his intelligence, the outer limits of his chakra, his tolerance to pain, but this… this aspect of his body was his own.

His fingers slid slowly down the thin trail of dark hair on his stomach, soft and still the barest bit damp from his shower. His cock stirred in response and Sasuke couldn't prevent the sneer that curled on his mouth. He was sure that this element of the 'chosen vessel' would be tested upon ownership. Sick fucking bastard.

His hand moved down far enough that his palm came to rest over his hardening erection. He could feel it shift and grow under the warmth of his calloused skin. He didn't move his hand, leaving it there, a solid pressure against his need.

Sasuke's eyes blinked open and he once again followed the patterns on the ceiling. He remembered earlier today being in the canteen and hearing several nameless minions of his 'lord' talking about a certain establishment they had visited. They laughed and sneered at each telling. The breasts on that one and the cock on this one. Dirty, seedy,_exhilarating_ images that should have made any sixteen year old come in his pants right there.

Sasuke finished his meal and left.

Whatever other young men fantasized about didn't stimulate him at all. This urge, these ridiculous needs of his body were just that. Needs to be handled the way he handled hunger or hygiene. These urges were nothing but something else he had to maintain control over. Giving into a fantasy, be it breasts and curves, soft fingers and gentle caresses, or hard muscles and musky scent, growled demands and finger shaped bruises, was nothing more than a weakness and ultimately a loss of control Sasuke couldn't afford.

Finally he allowed his fingers to curl slowly around his cock, now hard and hot beneath his skin. Two slow pulls, up and down, up and down, and then he stopped. His eyes remained open and he drew slow, deep breaths. This need would not best him.

He moved his hand from the comforter and brought it over his heart. His other hand, resting at the base of his erection, moved up, tight, tight, and then he twisted his wrist, palm gliding over the head with the assistance of pre-cum and then came down, silky and wet.

And he stopped. Breathing controlled, but he felt droplets of sweat forming along his hairline. The hand over his heart moved lower, his thumb catching on one pert nipple. The muscles in his ass and stomach constricted as electricity sliced through his mind.

No, no, he was in control.

He forced his muscles to relax, pressing himself back into the mattress. His cock jumped and dripped and with a growl, he gave it two swift pumps. He was slick now, wet with his own need. Pleasure ricocheted inside his stomach and he pressed his free hand over the growing, pulsing heat. Fist once again wrapped around the base, his little finger drifted downwards, pulling at the tightening skin of his balls.

His thighs tensed, nearly shaking, while his legs instinctively bent at the knees and fell open wider. Sasuke forced level breaths and stubbornly kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Not yet, he wouldn't give in yet, and it was this moment that he hated over all else. This moment when no matter how hard he focused on the ceiling or his katas or his ever pressing goals, or, or, or… this was the moment his body took control.

The hand on his stomach pressed down hard, forcing his hips to stay in place as the pressure built and built. His fist moved up and down his cock, twisting with each pull and palming the dripping head.

His hair was plastered uncomfortably to his temples by sweat and a droplet ran into his eye. When he closed his eyes, the sensations in his body nearly overwhelmed him. Coiling and twisting, building at his toes and fingers and racing toward his center with white hot intensity.

Sasuke's hips arched off the bed and his heels dug into the mattress. His hand moved frantically, jerking, jerking, jerking. His breath came out in chaotic, shallow pants.

He screamed inside his head. Hating himself, hating his weak body but even as he entertained that thought, he anticipated the release, needing it, wanting it over everything else. His will, no longer his own, wasn't trying to starve off the inevitable, it was chasing it down at all costs.

He had no control. He was prisoner to his body's mercies, driven by instinct, and governed by spontaneous, irrational, _ridiculous_ need.

Just like… him.

Flashes through his mind… golden hair, blue eyes, a voice he only remembered raised in anger…

White exploded behind his eyes and he was cumming. His teeth clamped so harshly onto his bottom lip that he tasted copper. Yank, pull, jerk and his eyes squeezed shut, so tight they hurt.

"Damn you…" Sasuke muttered angrily to himself, to someone miles away, and so close. With several slow, deep breaths, he locked away thoughts he had no intention of entertaining, and his body finally relaxed, his legs spread eagle and his hand still pressing over his stomach. His fingers, covered with his release, blindly reached for his discarded towel.

With cool efficiency -control was once again his own- he cleaned himself, tossing the rag into the basket and lying back on the bed. Once again, he flung his arm over his eyes and toyed with the fabric with his free hand.

Tomorrow…

Three steps to the bathroom, two to the shower. Six steps out the door and ninety-seven and a half to the training room. Steps, steps, steps…

As he fell asleep, one thought he wouldn't remember in the morning drifted over his mind.

_How many steps will be enough? How many steps will take me home? _


End file.
